Run To Midnight
by Loopylou
Summary: Set five years after End Of Daylight, it's time for John to save the world again. The only question is will he accept the job?
1. Chapter 1

Run To Midnight 

Chapter One

Rain fell steadily from the sky for most of her drive. She wasn't used to it and drove more slowly than normal. Cursing fate when she missed the turning, she pulled the car into the side of the road while she checked the map one last time. This was the right place. The village seemed a little depressing to her, but there was a soothing air about it that she liked. Two huge stone pillars stood on either side of the road, a sign hung between them on a stripped redwood tree. It read "Welcome to St John."

She smiled at the irony. She'd driven over nine hundred miles to get him and had been fighting nerves most of the way. Gravel crunched under the car as she drew to a stop outside of his house. It was a low slung cabin, the type favoured by campers and tourists. She could see white smoke drifting from the chimney and knew that he was home. The windows were dark, and she couldn't see anyone inside.

She got out of the car, closing the door quietly behind her. It didn't feel right to slam it in such a tranquil place. The cabin was away from the main village, connected by a dirt road. She could see tire marks and guessed that John had his own transport. She paused before knocking on the door, tense for reasons she couldn't fathom. It was a handsome building, made from rough hewn logs. It looked solid and reassuring. A porch wrapped around the house, protecting it from the worst of the elements.

Rapping her knuckles against the door sharply, she hunched her jacket tighter around her neck as she waited. It was still raining and the air temperature was a couple of degrees lower than she liked. Her breath misted in the air as she breathed out. John himself answered the door. He was relaxed in the lightweight black wheelchair. The neutral expression on his face didn't change when he saw her standing there, but she could see past it. He was shocked.

"Angela." The way he said her name gave her shivers. She looked steadily at him, keeping eye contact. He lifted one side of his mouth in a parody of a smile.

"John." Her voice was steady, and she was grateful that her emotions didn't show in it. Everything inside of her was still to raw to be let out.

He came to his senses as she shivered once, violently. The wheelchair made no noise on the oak floor as he turned round, moving away from the door. "Come in." There was real warmth in his voice. She was surprised to see traces of stubble on his face. In all the time she'd known him, he'd be clean shaven. The stubble accentuated the hollowness of his cheeks, mirroring the shadows under those brown eyes. His hair was longer. Somehow, the look suited him.

She stepped into the house, snicking the door closed behind her. The cabin was tastefully decorated, with bare wood floors and dark cream walls. It was warm and she slipped her coat off, hanging it with the others by the door. To her right, there was a living room. She could see a corner of a large yellow couch. It looked inviting, even after being sat in the car for days on end while she made the trip. Another door stood closed to her left and she guessed that it was a bedroom or a bathroom.

The rest of the cabin was a mystery to her, but it revealed itself as she followed John towards the back of the house. Cooking smells wafted past her nose and her stomach rumbled. The kitchen door was partly open and she could hear someone moving around in there. John pushed through the door, moving into the room so that she had space to enter it too.

A blonde woman stood cooking at the stove. Angela gasped, "I'm sorry, I didn't know that you…" she managed before turning to leave the kitchen. Somehow, she'd never thought that he'd have a relationship. It was selfish, she knew, but that didn't help. She still felt shocked.

"Angela! Wait!" Normally the plea in his voice would have stopped her, but she carried on regardless. "Angela! It's my Mother!"

Angela stopped in the hallway, giving him chance to catch up. He moved with the same grace. The thick black wool jumper did little to hide the defined muscles in his arms and shoulders. He was too close to her and she wanted to step back, but he caught her hands at the last second, holding her in place. His grip was gentle and she could feel callous on his hands from the wheelchair.

She didn't know what to say, couldn't look him in the eye. For the second time that day, he looked at her. This time he noticed the battered look she was carrying. His eyes flew over her body, checking for injury, but there was none. She was hurting on the inside, not the outside. He let go of her hands. She let them fall to her sides.

"I should have told you I was coming." Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"I'm glad you're here." He was sincere, not sarcastic "It's been too long."

"Five years." She supplied "Can we talk?"

"Of course." John said. "We…"

Whatever he was going to say was cut sharply off as his Mother came into the hallway. She was a tall, slender woman who Angela couldn't pin an age on. She could have been thirty or she could have been sixty. Her blonde hair was woven through with grey, placing her closer to sixty. She wore a tan turtleneck, pearls and black trousers. Her feet were encased in expensive designer shoes that would have cost Angela a month's pay.

"John?" She laid a hand on his shoulder, not noticing as he tensed. "Are you aright honey?" There was a fallacy to her tone that made Angela grit her teeth.

John apparently felt the same way, because he snapped "I'm fine," before moving away from her cloying touch.

The older woman looked at Angela, trying to score pity "There's no need to be like that John." When John didn't introduce her, she introduced herself, sending a reprimanding glance at her son for his lack of manners. "I'm Joan." She held out a hand for Angela to shake. Angela took her hand, a little unsure. "I'm Angela."

He closed his eyes for a second, reining in his frustration. "Can you pick some stuff up for me?" His tone was clipped.

"Of course I can sweetie." Joan bent to plant a kiss on her son's head. Angela got the feeling that it was all a show for her benefit. He pulled a list from his pocket, passing it to his mother. She left the room in a waft of perfume and John seemed to relax again. He shot a scowl at the door she had passed through, but didn't comment until they heard the front door slam.

He looked apologetically at Angela. "She takes some getting used to." Once again, he lead the way into the kitchen, waving Angela to sit down as he made toast and coffee. He moved around the kitchen with ease, laying spoons, sugar and other items onto the table. He placed a stack of toast next to her, before returning to get the coffee and cups.

She poured the coffee, adding sugar and milk to hers. He drank his black. She didn't know where to start, and picked at a slice of toast while she thought about what she had to say. He sensed that she needed time and waited patiently. He took a slice of toast for himself, eating it slowly as he waited.

"I lost my job because of them John. The city is in ruins and the cops still won't listen to reason. Gangs of half-breeds are roaming the streets. They have no respect for the balance. My boss" she swallowed hard "I tried to tell him the truth and he laughed in my face. He told me I was insane."

He took her hand, offering comfort through touch. The pad of his thumb stroked her palm softly. His hands were warm and surprisingly soft against hers. She continued, relentless now that she had started. "We need you John. The city needs you. People are dying. In another year, maybe two, they'll be nothing left worth saving."

He opened his mouth to speak, and she anticipated the question. "I have a friend, a Doctor, who thinks he can heal you. It's a new procedure, but it's been working well." Her eyes implored him to consider the offer, but she had a gut feeling about what he would say.

He silently stared at the table, considering her offer.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

John had been living in the village for so long that the city was an alien place to him. Each siren, each car, every noise that he'd go so used to living without assaulted his ears. He moved the blinds aside so the he could look out of the reinforced window. He could see what Angela was talking about. Burnt shells of cars littered the streets. Every building had at least one window broken. The half breeds had brought hell to earth. A half smile, half snarl appeared on his face as he thought about sending them all back to hell.

The city was crying out for a hero and apparently he was it. He snorted, thinking that there wasn't much he hadn't given to keep the city safe. It had almost taken his life. It most likely would take his life one day. Faded silver scars still littered his body, products of a demon's claws and a Doctor's scalpel. By some miracle, the claws had missed the tattoo on his arms completely. He rubbed his thumb over it absently, wondering if he'd ever need to use it's power again.

_How could it get this bad? _He wondered, _was I that much on an influence on those bastards? _ He couldn't answer his own question and wrenched his wheelchair away from the window, disgusted by the street below him. The room he was in looked the same as every other hospital room he'd been in. bland off-white walls, a grey tile floor and a huge, ugly metal bed. He didn't relish the thought of being trapped in that bed. The thought of pain didn't bother him. He welcomed it with open arms if it meant he could walk again. Just being in the room was enough to dredge up every bad memory that he had of hospitals. The light from outside made his eyes look like liquid amber.

Though he didn't notice, he was gripping the wheels of his wheelchair so tightly his fingers looked bloodless. He wanted to pace, to move, to relieve the tension, but the room was barely big enough to turn around in, let alone move. He was drawn back to the window, and watched in disgusted fascination as another car was set alight. The half-breeds danced around it, cherishing the flames as they consumed the vehicle. They were chanting, though he couldn't hear the words. He hated the fact that he was so helpless. An overwhelming need to pray came over him and he dropped his head, muttering words he'd learned at Sunday School but had never spoken aloud until then.

He'd refused the gown the nurse had offered to him and instead wore an old pair of navy blue sweats with a light grey tee-shirt. He sighed, trying to kill his nerves. There was a loose thread on his tee-shirt and he absently pulled it, snapping it off. His feet were bare and looked pale in the fluorescent light. He couldn't imagine them taking his weight again. He flexed his toes, laughing bitterly as they didn't move. He never waited for things to come to him. He was a man of action, not reaction. He hated waiting for anything. It wasn't that he couldn't be patient, more that most of the time he didn't want to be. Why waste more of his life waiting for things to be brought to him? It didn't make sense.

The door behind him opened and Angela walked in, flanked by a nurse. He saw their reflection in the window and wiped the scowl from his face before turning around. Angela looked worn out. The jeans and shirt she had on were too big for her, and she'd been forced to add a belt to the jeans just to keep them up. Her slender frame lacked the wiry strength he'd loved. She was carrying a pair of steaming cups and she passed one to him. He took it eagerly, thinking it was coffee, but when he got it to his mouth, he found it was hot chocolate. He looked at her questioningly.

"Doctor's orders. No coffee." She said with a tired shrug.

He took a deep drink of the chocolate, burning his mouth as he swallowed the liquid. It was soothing, and he was suddenly glad that she'd bothered to bring him it. Something shifted in his chest and he smiled a little. Someone actually cared about him still. He lifted the paper cup towards her, saying "Thanks."

He got a wan smile in return as she sat on the bed. She'd done all of the driving back to the city the night before. The trip had taken them almost fifteen hours and the lack of sleep was now catching up with her. A huge yawn threatened to split her face open and he had to smother a laugh. It surprised him, and a tiny smile managed to sneak onto his face before he could get it under control.

There where so many pressing questions he wanted to ask, but couldn't with the nurse in the room. He turned to her, asking "Can we be alone?"

She frowned, having been told to keep an eye on John. He added "Please? We need to talk."

The nurse nodded reluctantly, stepping out of the door while saying "I'll be back in half an hour to check you." She closed the door on his thank you.

He turned back to Angela, who had curled up against the headboard of the bed. "What happened?" The question itself was ambiguous, but she understood what he meant.

"It started about a year after you left. Little things- an increase in graffiti, more petty crime- and grew almost overnight. We started seeing more violent crimes. Murders doubled." She paused to take a drink "I was working late one night. We had a case where a mother had killed her children and then committed suicide. There was a burn on her arm. She had been branded." Tears welled up in Angela's eyes, but she didn't stop "I told my boss about half breeds. He told me I was insane. He fired me the same day." There was a raw hostility that he'd never expected to here from her.

"I'm sorry." Was all he said, having a feeling that her story was going to get worse. The chocolate had started to go cold, and he drank the last of it before setting the cup on the small table next to him. It was a cheap pine one, but it had been well looked after. A small plaque held details he did not wish to read. There was enough sadness in his life without adding more.

"He and my partner were killed by half-breeds less than a week after I was fired. I keep thinking, if only I could have made them believe me, I could have saved them. I can't help but blame myself, John."

He didn't know what to say. A platitude would sound false, and words of comfort would do little good. He settled for taking her hand, whispering "You did the best that you could. You _tried, _and that's all that matters."

She accepted the words for what they were and squeezed his hand in silent thanks. "I missed you John." She said, the simple words having power because of the truth behind them.

It was all to easy to admit he'd missed her too. "I'm sorry I left like I did." He felt a little ashamed about running away from her like he had.

The door swung open again and the nurse walked back in. John scowled, thinking _thirty minutes my ass. _

"Mr Constantine, we're ready for you in theatre now." she said, dropping a pale blue gown on the bed. It sounded like a newspaper when it landed and he guessed that it was made of some kind of paper. He focused on the blend, trying to figure it out in his mind, trying not to think about what was going to happen to him. The next time he was in this room, he might be able to walk again. He'd never really thought about it, but now he did. Fear and anxiety rivalled excitement in his mind. He didn't know which one would win.

The nurse coughed, and he realised that he'd been miles away. He reached for the gown, managing not to wince as he picked it up. It was stiff and thick, strangely heavy for what it was. He laid it on his lap while he pulled his tee-shirt off over his head and tossed in onto the bed. Angela gasped as she saw his scars for the first time. He looked down, having managed to forget just how bad the where. Angela leaned forward on the bed, the nurse temporally forgotten.

"May I?" She asked, hand hovering over the longest scar. In her mind, Angela could still see him laying on the bathroom floor, bleeding out as she fought to save him. He reached out and stopped her hand mere centimetres away from his skin. The thought of anyone touching those scars sent a feeling of revulsion through him.

"Please, don't." He said, not letting go of her hand. She leaned forward and kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, more to reassure him than to spark passion. With a final squeeze of his hand, she go up of the bed and left him. She couldn't look back as she walked through the door.

Slipping the gown on, John looked at the nurse and said only two words "I'm ready."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

John decided that waking up from the anaesthetic was the worst part. His mind was filled with a mist so thick it was hard to think even basic thoughts. His mouth and tongue were dry and he licked weakly at his lips, trying to moisten them. He moved his arm, surprised at just how heavy it felt, and feebly pressed the buzzer to attract the nurse's attention. She came quickly, bringing with her two equally welcome things. In her right hand, she carried a glass full of ice chips. Next to her walked Angela.

"How are you feeling John?" the auburn haired nurse asked. She wore a set of mint green scrubs that he found strangely repulsive. Angela took the ice chips from the nurse as she checked John's surgical site. He winced a few times as she applied pressure to sore areas, but there was no real pain. Apparently satisfied, she flipped the covers back over him in a way that made him feel about five years old again. He flexed his right hand, wincing as the tape covering one of many IV's pulled his skin. He felt slightly sick.

John knew that he wasn't up to making conversation, so he tried for a shrug and a smile, knowing that he failed miserably at both. The nurse seemed to think it was a good sign anyway. She left after checking the monitors he was attached to once again. Angela sat down on the chair, tipping a few ice chips into his mouth. He sucked them greedily, relishing the liquid. He coughed a little, clearing his throat before he tried to speak.

"The operation?" His voice was lower than normal, and more gravely. He couldn't really feel any of his body, due at least in part to the amount of drugs he'd been given. He'd trade all of them in just to know if he was going to walk again. Feeling was slowly starting to return. She held up the cup, asking if he wanted more ice. He nodded slightly, and she gave him more. The liquid was more then welcome.

"The Doctor thinks it was a success." She paused and he knew she had something bad to tell him. Her eyes had clouded, just for a second, but it had been enough. "The man before you died. The Doctor didn't say anything. I overheard his family…" There was something in her voice that he couldn't identify. She gently laid her head on the bed next to him. He couldn't see her face, but the tears trickling down his side told him that she was crying. Sensation had become very important to him, and the feel of her tears was an exquisite torture.

"It could have been you John. I couldn't bare to lose you again. I couldn't." The words were clearly stated. The emotion behind them was formidable.

"Angela." He said her name in a low voice, to get her attention. It worked and she looked up, eyes red and shining from unshed tears. "You'll never lose me. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave again." He did something he hardly ever did- made a promise he might not be able to keep. "I promise you." He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, sealing the promise.

Curiosity got the better of her manners and she asked "How does it feel?" She let him keep hold of her hand. It was comforting to touch someone who cared.

He answered truthfully "Numb still. The pain meds are pretty strong."

She seemed a little disappointed with his answer, but there was nothing he could do about it. It wasn't like the operation was going to make him walk again straight away. It was just a means to an end. There was still months and months of physical therapy to attend before he'd be able to use the muscles in his legs. They had started to atrophy and would need work to build them back up.

"So what now?" She asked. Her hand went to her neck, and absently she fiddled with the cross hanging there.

"I go to physical therapy as many times as I can. I build the muscles back up. I walk again." He said, once again trying to move his toes. If Angela noticed, she didn't comment. To his delight, this time he felt a tiny tremor in his foot. It wasn't movement, but it was better than nothing.

Angela sat back in the chair, studying his face. "You've changed." She said finally, not quite able to pinpoint what was so different about him. It was like an echo of the man he'd been before becoming paralysed was growing stronger in him, taking him back to his true self.

"I've had to." He said and he wasn't being flippant. His tone was even, moderated even under the influence of the drug. It would be so easy for her to hate him for leaving like he had and yet she couldn't. it was the only way he could be, the only way he could _survive_ to fight another day. And here she was bringing that day to him. Those dark eyes bled pain and she had to look away. The emotion in his eyes was too raw for her to absorb.

An explosion rocked the front of the building. Angela was so used to it she hardly reacted, but John actually recoiled from the sound. Now he understood why the windows were reinforced. He tensed, waiting for the attack, but it never came. The half-breeds were only interested in making fire, not taking lives. They would be content with the sacrifice of the car. For tonight at least. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?

"What was it?" John asked and she got up to look. He wanted to caution her, warn her to be careful but the words died on his lips. She knew what the city was capable of and how to avoid it's tricks. Thick clouds of dirty grey smoke billowed down the street, away from the hospital. A pile of old tires surrounded the white hot carcass of a car. As she watched, the half breeds threw more tires onto the flaming pile. It grew so bright that she was forced to look away.

"A car." She said simply, sitting back down. A sigh escaped from her as a feeling of despair filled her soul. _Will we ever get the city back from them? _she thought. _Will even the great John Constantine be enough to win this war? _Honestly, she didn't know if he could do it alone. She would be by his side, but she was a physic, not an exorcist. There would be only so much that she could do.

John watched her silently, amazed by the emotions morphing on her face. He yawned, surprised at how tired he felt already. His eyes slid closed, and he fought back, opening them again. A thought that's been creeping around his brain since he got back to the city finally crawled into the light.

"My apartment?" He mumbled, still fighting sleep.

Though his eyes are closed, she flushes. "I moved in. It seemed sensible. I couldn't afford the rent on both places…"

He roused himself and with effort managed to say. "It's okay. Safer there for you anyway." The apartment had enough magical protection to keep the half-breeds well outside. The enchantment around the door had been used alone to protect countless tombs. At the time, he found the irony amusing. Now, it was just unsettling. _Did I invite death into my home? _He thought, knowing that the first thing he's going to do is change that incantation. He shivers, more from his morbid thoughts than cold.

Angela picks up a washed out blue blanked from where it's folded on the bottom of the bed and spreads it over him. He yawns once again, and pretending impatience, she said "For God's sake, John, go back to sleep." He wanted to give her the finger, but his body was growing heavy as sleep took him into it's embrace.

She smiled fondly at him before standing. Reaching for her coat, she pulled her change purse from it and headed out of his room in search of a payphone. She didn't like John's mother, but during her rushed to the cabin, somehow Angela had promised the older woman that she would phone the second John's operation was over.

A rueful glance at her watch told Angela that she should have phoned almost forty minutes ago. Angela pulled the battered business card she had been given from her jean pocket and studied it for a few seconds, one hand resting lightly on the phone. It's cream, on thick card. A band of gold runs around the outside, as if corralling the letters and numbers. One corner has been bent and Angela straightened it with her thumb. She slipped coins into the slot on the payphone and dialled the number. The phone rang five times before it was snatched up.

"Hello?" John's mother didn't sound very concerned about her son. Angela bit back anger before speaking.

"Joan, it's Angela." She waited, and when the older woman didn't speak, she continued, knowing that a little of that anger had seeped into her voice. "John is fine, thanks for asking. He came through the operation well."

"That's good, dear. Tell him I was asking about him." Without another word, Joan put down the phone.

Angela stared at the receiver as if it could explain what had just happened. With a sigh that was part disgust, part sadness, she hung the phone back up, collecting her change before checking her watch. The phone call had taken less than three minutes. After that little display, she could understand why John was such a loner. She decided not to mention it to John , sensing that it would only upset him. He knew how little his mother cared for him. He didn't need the point hammered home any more. Those old wounds would heal, Angela knew, but only if no-one picked at the scabs.

With another sigh, she went back into John's room. He was sleeping soundly, all the monitors around him bleeping reassuringly. She took a light green blanket and small pillow from the cupboard by his bed, curling up in the chair with the blanket over her and the pillow tucked under her head. She wanted to sleep, but it felt somehow like a betrayal. She felt the need to watch over him still. Given the limited space, she was surprisingly comfortable.

She leaned her head against the pillow, eyes half closed. Felt truly safe for the first time in a long while. John was her rock and she couldn't lose him. He'd taken part of her with him when he left and only now was she getting it back. It felt so right him being back in her life. She didn't want to risk it again. So she stayed awake and watched, until the first rays of morning light broke the smoggy horizon. Only then, did she sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

**Eight Months Later**

John stopped on the stairs leading away from the hospital. It was a beautiful day, and one he wanted to saviour. The crutches at his sides were temporarily forgotten as he felt the sun on his skin for the first time in far too long. The long months of rehab had been hard, and boring and frustrating, but it was all worth it for this single moment when he felt free again. A slow step took him to the edge of the stairs and he paused there again, this time surveying the city.

The sun hung low and blood red in the sky, half hidden in smoke. Buildings leaned against each other like drunken men, their windows like dead eyes, pressing down on him accusingly. The street was littered with debris. He saw what looked like a child's doll laying in the middle of the road. He prayed that it's owner had not gone to hell. A scrap of newspaper blew past in a gust of wind, bringing with it grit that stung his face. The area was deserted, and the street was strangely quiet.

Things had gotten much worse. He'd seen blood, human blood, running in the gutters like a river from some macabre version of hell. The image was burned into his mind like a brand. It stood for all the things that were wrong in the city. It reminded him of all the things he was going to put right. There was no way he would let anymore blood be spilled in his city. He'd risked too much to save it before. He'd lost friends to prevent this very thing happening. Carefully, he made his way down the steps to where Angela was waiting in the car. She'd wanted to help him, but he'd insisted that it was something he wanted to do on his own.

He had reached the bottom of the steps safely when he felt a strange sensation pass over him. He looked up, searching. Dozens of eyes looked back at him. The half-breeds were waiting in the shadows and the derelict buildings around the hospital. As one, they all began chanting his name, the pitch rising and falling like waves in the sea. In the sky, the clouds shifted, obscuring the sun and sending the street into shade. A quick glance showed him hundreds of glowing red eyes watching him. His hand went to his jacket pocket, and he fingered the medallions there, reassuring himself with the familiar feel of them.

It was creepy, even he had to admit that. He wanted to use his new mobility to run to the car and not stop driving until they hit Canada. He knew to run would be to admit his fears to the ones that were causing them. He forced himself to stand where he was, forced himself not to look at Angela's horrified face. He waited just long enough, and then slowly strolled to the car, the crutches as much of a hindrance as they were a help. He opened the car door and paused the as if taking in the scenery. The relentless chanting didn't stop. He could feel the force of the hundreds of voices in his chest, like one can feel vibrations as a lorry drives past.

He slid into the car, wincing a little as his overworked muscles protested. As he slammed the door, a pair of half-breeds ran into the street, towards the car. Angela started the engine, her foot ready on the gas pedal. He held out a hand to stop her driving, watching in horrified fascination as the clouds moved away from the sun and the half-breeds began to burn. The others backed away, slinking deeper into the shadows like whipped dogs. The two half-breeds in the street tried to get to the safety of the shadows, but couldn't make it. Within minutes, they had gone, reduced to ashes on the wind.

"They're changing." He said, voice a low hum, "The demon in them is taking over." A huge part of him was horrified by the very idea. It was abhorrent to him. More importantly, it shouldn't be _able _to happen. The human portion of the half-breeds was what made them what they were. It also prevented them from becoming full demons. He explained his thoughts to Angela, finishing with, "This shouldn't be happening."

"Oh you noticed?" She asked, sarcasm shoving fear out of the way for a few seconds at least. He glanced at her, taking in the drawn look on her face. For the first time since they'd met, she looked fragile. It worried him, seeing her like that. There had always been a core of inner steel to her. It looked badly worn now. He reached out and touched her arm. She was freezing, but her skin was clammy.

"You're freezing." He said, concerned. The car heating was already on full, so he turned the blower up, bringing more warm air into the car. "Pull over." He ordered, already taking off his overcoat to dress her in. She stopped that car at the side of the road, casting a wary glance into the rear-view mirror before she stepped out. She left the engine running, and her door open. He got the idea that nothing would stop her from making a quick getaway. He leaned out of the car and handed her the coat. She slipped in on, pushing the too long sleeves up. Without thinking, she stuck her hands into the pockets. Her fingers brushed against a cool metal object, which she assumed to be his medallions, but they were in the other pocket. She touched it again, realizing that it was a slightly worn ring.

With another look down the street, she got back into the car, slamming the door behind her. He winced a little at the sudden loud noise. She didn't bother to put her seatbelt on before moving off. They drove in silence, both occupied by their own thoughts. It seemed like the drive to his apartment took twice as long as it ever had. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw the old building drawing closer. Stealing a glance at her, he saw that she was frowning. It worried him.

She parked the car so that it was facing away from the building, getting out with barely a look at him. He got the feeling that he'd upset her somehow, but didn't know how. She took the bag from the back seat, slamming the door and left him to find his own way into the building. He scowled at her, but followed slowly, avoiding the worst of the rubble one the pavement. The feeling of relief that washed over him when he closed the thick wooden door behind him was immeasurable. He had come home, in more ways that one.

She hadn't changed the place much, save for adding thick rugs on the floors and painting the walls. The table he'd spent so many nights drinking at still stood in the centre of the kitchen. He leaned a crutch against it as he took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. She had gone directly into the bedroom to drop of his bag, and he filled the kettle with water and set it to boil before leaving the kitchen.

"Angela?" He said, pushing the door open. She had closed it behind herself. She sat on the end of the bed, the bag discarded on the floor at her side. He couldn't see her face because she had buried it in her hands. From the way her shoulders were moving, he guessed that she was crying. He sat on the bed beside her, calling him name gently.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were married?" She asked in between sobs. She felt betrayed by him, something she hadn't expected to feel.

He didn't know what to say. A lie would only upset her further, while the truth was something he wasn't sure he could tell her. Those memories were still too raw. "How did you know?" He asked instead. She pulled her hands away from her face, digging around in the overcoat pocket until she found the ring.

"I touched it and I knew." She said simply, dropping it onto the bed between them. He picked it up, closing his fist around it. The silver warmed slowly, but it somehow still felt cold.

"They died, Angela, three days before you came." A muscle twitched in his cheek as he fought back his emotions. "It was a car accident- the road was wet and she lost control. They ended upside down in a flooded drainage ditch. The car was…" He paused and fought for control. "The car was wedged so hard into the ditch that they had to dig it free."

His chest hitched as a sob broke free, but he didn't make a sound. The loss had hit him hard and he was still grieving for the family that he'd lost. He'd hoped to distance himself from the memories by coming back to the city, but in some ways, they were even stronger. No matter where he was, the memories didn't hurt any less.

"They?" She echoed faintly.

"I had a son too. He would have been five this year." He said, knowing the words would hurt her doubly. She'd hate him for not telling her, and she'd grieve for that little boy who he'd lost.

"John…" She said, and that word was packed with everything she wanted to say. She laid a hand over his, both offering and taking support.

"I should have told you, but I was coping on my own." He said in a low voice.

The kernel of hurt still ached deep in her chest, but it was more bearable now. She looked at him, and drew him into a hug. For an instant, he'd looked so fragile that she'd been scared that he was going to shatter into a million pieces. He wasn't the man she loved any more, and yet he was. Both of them had changed and she knew that she could forgive him. He deserved to be happy. They both did. The life they led had taken everything away from them and gave nothing back.

"Did you love her?" She whispered against his chest.

"I did. I loved both of them." He said. "She gave me peace."

He paused and when he spoke again, his voice was stronger. "Did you have anyone?"

There had been a few relationships over the years. "There was never anyone special."

"I'm sorry." He said, and he really was. To go through life without love was something no-one should have to do.

"I needed you John, and you weren't there. Some nights the bed was so cold and all I wanted was someone to hold me and make me feel safe the way you do." The words didn't sound like they could have come from her. When had she grown so needy?

"I'm here now." He said.

"Will you leave?" She asked bluntly.

"I won't run away again." He promised. "Nothing on this earth could force me to leave."

She was comforted by his words. The feeling of protection that he gave her was something none of the other men could offer. He hugged her and held her close, neither of them moving even when the kettle whistled for attention.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five 

Time passed. It could have been five minutes or could have been fifty minutes. The tea kettle was growing more and more insistent for attention. Reluctantly, they drew apart and headed for the kitchen. He took only one crutch with him, leaning on it reluctantly. There were a few new touches that she'd added. The apartment looked brighter and so much more like a home now than when he'd lived here by himself. There was even rugs on the stone floor.

"Sit," He said, pushing her gently towards a chair. Absently, he noticed that she had changed the fabric on the seats. Bright sunflowers now lived where dull fabric once had. He liked the change and hid a smile as he turned to the counter. A border of blue and yellow squares sat neatly just above the work surface, dividing the wall into two.

He used a tea towel to take the kettle from the stove top and made tea in a teapot he'd never seen before. Sunflowers seemed to be invading his apartment. She stood, pretending not to notice his glare and took milk from the fridge. Intercepting him as he made his way slowly to the table, she took the teapot from him and set it on the table, next to the mugs that were already there.

They both sat, each holding a mug of strong tea. She sipped hers before speaking. With both hands wrapped around the mug, warmth was starting to creep back into her body. She was actually starting to feel safe again.

"What are we going to do?" She asked. He didn't know if she meant the relationship or the city. He chose to address the later, thinking that it was the easier problem to solve. He felt awful for not telling Angela about his marriage, but at the time it had been easier not to say anything. He'd never meant to hurt her. He loved the woman too much for that.

"Mass deportations. It won't be easy." He said, thinking that nothing in his life was ever easy. The truth was, he no longer expected his life to be simple. "We're gonna need help." He had a few people in mind, but had no way of knowing if they were still in the city or even if they were still alive.

"I know where to find some." She said, her tone only slightly smug. He was surprised, but tried not to show it. She took his lack of reaction to be disapproval, and scowled at him. "Jesus John." She swore, giving him another dirty look.

"So what's he called?" He asked, trying to keep the peace. John wasn't sexist, but most people in his line of work were men. It was a fact.

"He's a she." Angela said flatly.

He managed to hide the shocked expression before Angela saw it. "Her name?" He asked again, wondering if he knew her.

"She's called Solitaire. At least, that's what she says she's called. I doubt it's her real name."

"I've never heard of her." John admitted, shaking his head as he tried to place the name. Something about it was familiar, even though he knew he didn't actually know her. Somewhere, he had heard something about the girl. Gossip travels fast, no matter what it's about.

"She turned up just after you… left." The significant pause in her sentence was a pointed one. "Started killing half-breeds who crossed her. She's good at what she does." There was a strange note in Angela's voice that he couldn't figure out. "She's only young." Angela added, almost as an after thought.

"What does she use?" He asked, a memory tickling the back of his mind. He thought that he had heard about her, even though their paths had never crossed.

Angela smiled a wicked grin. "That's the best part- she has a sniper rifle that she uses, plus a few other modern toys. None of the old ways for her. I doubt that she knows them."

John's memory offered up the titbit it had been holding back. "She used to work in New York, didn't she? She left after some trouble with the cops."

"Correct. Now she's working your fair city. You should meet her John, you'll love her." There was a mere trace of dry humour in her voice.

"I'll bet." He muttered. "So where does the girl wonder live?" He asked, excitement starting to bubble in his gut. It was a long time since he'd chased anything remotely demonic. It was time he was back in the game.

Angela told him the address and then went to fetch her car keys. John was still not allowed to drive, and Angela enjoyed the fact that he was dependant on her, even if it was only for transport. She came back from the bedroom carrying two sets of keys. One of the first things she'd done when she moved in was to have the locks changed. She handed John a brand new set of keys that matched those new locks. She half expected him to be angry, but he simply took the keys from her with a muttered thanks.

While she'd been out of the room, he'd slipped his jacket on and he put the keys into one of it's pockets, fastening it safely so that they couldn't fall out. They left the apartment, John using one crutch for support. He hated the damn things and couldn't wait to get rid of them. Angela closed and locked the door, bolts engaging with a satisfying clunk of metal against stone. On impulse, John traced his fingers over the markings he'd carved into the door. The runes of protection and defence felt rough under his fingers, but gave him a feeling of confidence.

_He was John Constantine. He'd beat death twice. What where a few thousand half-breeds but a mere annoyance, a distraction from the big plan? Before the night was over, he'd be invincible once again. Nothing would stop him. He would become… _He stepped back, breaking contact with the door. He shook his head to clear the thoughts away. He didn't know where they had come from and didn't like them much. John Constantine or not, he could still bleed. He could still die.

Realising that Angela was waiting for him in the car, he turned and hurried to catch up. Neither of them noticed the lone crutch, laying abandoned by the locked door. The drive to Solitaire's apartment was a long one. She lived on the other side of the city- the side which had been hit the hardest. John felt like he was driving through a war zone. The streets were lined with burnt out cars, litter lining the curbs like summer snow. Old newspapers blew listlessly down the street, the wind toying with them like a cat with a mouse.

Angela drove slowly, avoiding the worst of the debris. More than once, they were forced to drive around a pothole in the road. Buildings hung open to the elements, their fronts blown off. The smashed windows felt like sightless eyes to John, begging him to do something to stop the destruction. It hurt his soul to see the city he loved and hated with equal measure so utterly destroyed. Even when- if- he won it back from the half-breeds, he doubted it would ever be the same. When you fix something, no matter how well, you can always see the scars left behind.

What he found worst was the gangs of half-breeds hiding in the shadows, waiting for the night to set them free on the city once again. A few times, he saw residents, normal humans who had had their lives ripped apart. They watched the car go past with dead eyes, not caring that he could save them. They had ceased to exist in their own minds and so ceased to exist in the real world. He heard Angela curse softly and didn't have to look at her to know that she was crying. He wished that he could find the release that tears offered, but the ball of rage growing in his chest stopped the sorrow from emerging.

Angela stopped in front of an apartment block that had survived better than it's neighbours. "This is it." She said, casting a wary look down the street. The both slid out of the car at the same time, John staying behind Angela to shield her from any attack. The main door hung open, half torn from it's hinges. Dust was thick in the air and he held back a cough. Angela led the way up the stairs, counting floors. They emerged onto the fifth, and she peeled off down a dark hallway, scanning the doors for the number they wanted.

She knocked once, and before she could knock again, the door was yanked open. The business end of a shotgun was pointed at them. The girl behind the gun looked like she had no qualms about using it if she doubted them even the tiniest bit.

"Solitaire." Angela said, turning slightly to John. "This is John Constantine."

The dark blonde tipped her head, studying them both. "I heard that he was dead." Apart from a silver ring on her thumb, she wore no jewellery. The jeans she wore hung low on her slim hips, held in place by a thick leather gun belt. She wore a simple black vest top under a battered leather jacket that looked a size too big for her.

"You heard wrong." Angela knew she sounded tough and uncaring, but it had to be done. "He's very much alive." She kept eye contact with the other girl. Neither of them was willing to back down.

"How do I know you're not lying?" Solitaire asked warily. So much suspicion from someone so young was tough to take.

John started to take his jacket off, freezing as Solitaire swung the shotgun so that it was aimed at his head. He smiled slightly at her, and resumed taking his jacket off. He let it fall into a pile on the floor, not caring that it would be covered in dust. Left sleeve first, he unbuttoned the crisp white shirt and folded the sleeve back. The right sleeve followed suit, until his tattoos were visible. He held his arms out towards her, showing them to her.

Those jaded grey eyes took in the scars on his wrists, then moved slowly over the black tattoos.

"I guess I heard wrong." She said and stepped back from the door, granting them access. He grabbed his jacket off the floor, shaking the dust off it. She laid the shotgun reverently in a gun rack by the door, not bothering to engage the safety. Angela knew enough to know that it wasn't a hunting shotgun. It was made for war. Solitaire saw her looking, and said "It's a Remington 1100. Used by police forces the world over. It works just as well to blow the heads off the half-breeds."

John was impressed by the apartment. It was small and cramped, but the sheer firepower the lined that walls made him feel like they stood a chance of winning the war against the half-breeds. He had no doubt that the girl new her weapons. In front of him, Angela knocked a box of shells off a low table. The box spilt and John knelt to replace them. He was impressed to see that they were made of gold. Keeping one, he stood. The narrow hallway opened up into a medium sized room.

John entered the room, noting that Solitaire was sat down, breaking down a gun to clean it. "Blessed gold?" He asked, holding it out to her. She nodded without taking her eyes away from her work. "Where did you find so much?"

She tipped her head and looked at him. "Half the churches in the city are abandoned. It's easy to find what you need." She picked up a glass bottle and tossed it at him without looking. He snatched it out of the air. "Holy water?"

"You got it bro." She said. "Not to be rude, but what do you want? You didn't drive all this way just to make small talk."

John sat on the sagging couch, leaning forward slightly. "We need your help."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six 

The words hung unanswered in the dusty silence. She tipped her head, refusing to take the bait. The only noise in the airless room was that from the wire brush she was using to clean the gun barrel. Angela found herself counting the times it rasped across the metal surface. She reached twenty before John's patience ran out. She was surprised. She thought it would have given out at about ten.

"Solitaire?" John prompted, more than a little annoyed with the game she was playing. He sat with his arms loosely folded, leaning against the arm of the couch. Angela sat next to him, and absently, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer to him. She was happy to comply. She was still getting used to the touching thing, but it was a nice feeling when it happened. She took hold of his other hand, absently smoothing his thumb with hers.

"You want _me_ to help _you_?" She asked, tone slightly mocking, hands still occupied with the dissembled gun she was putting back together. He watched as under her deft hands, a gun grew from a pile of parts. She scraped a knuckle, and a bead of blood appeared on her finger. She raised her hand to her mouth, sucking the wound for a second before continuing with her task.

"We need you, Solitaire." Angela said, wondering if she'd be forced to beg for the girl's help. "Can't do it without you." Angela added somewhat reluctantly. Angela liked Solitaire, she just wished that the younger woman would be more co-operative with them. It wasn't like she and John were there to hurt Solitaire. If anything, Angela had a feeling that John wanted to protect the young woman.

Solitaire stood, picking the gun up and fixing it into a gun safe. She took the keys out of her pocket, locked the safe and slipped the keys back into her pocket. She carefully folder the newspaper she had been using to protect the table into half, rubbing her finger up and down the crease. It seemed like a nervous habit to John. Outside, day was quickly giving way to night. John rose from the couch and glanced at Angela as a slight cue to do the same. She did, but her eyes were still fixed on Solitaire. The girl was staring at her boots, not meeting anyone's eyes as she tossed her options around.

"Thank you for your time." He said stiffly, as if he had to force the words past uncooperative lips. He turned and started walking down the hallway towards the door. He reached the door before Solitaire's voice rang out.

"Wait!" She snapped, hurrying into the hallway so quickly she nearly fell over Angela, "It's not safe."

With an infuriatingly smug smile, he said "We'll be fine." Both woman noticed the note of self mocking in his voice as he added "I am the great John Constantine, after all." He was goading her, forcing her towards some kind of reaction. It was a waiting game to see if it worked.

She smiled her own smug grin as she said " If you go out there, you'll be the great _dead _ John Constantine." Despite her smile, she was deadly serious. Those haunting grey eyes sought and held his. "You're staying here." She said, already walking back down the hall to make up a bed for them. Her mother might have been a crazy alcoholic, but she had taught her daughter manners.

Bed made, she re-immerged ten minutes into the living room where John and Angela were waiting. Dropping into a chair, she asked "So what's going down?" She was serious, all traces of her earlier cynicism gone, at least for now.

"We're declaring war on the half-breeds." John answered her, "They're in violation of the balance and must pay." He wore a smirk and those brown eyes held a promise that there would be hell to pay.

"Can't you just cast a spell and blow them all back to hell?" She untied her boots, kicking them off before pulling her knees onto the seat. "I guess what I'm asking is what do you need me for?"

"Are you as good as they say you are?" Angela spoke this time, hoping that the grapevine was right for once.

"No." Solitaire said, causing Angela's heart to sink. "I'm better than they say I am." She looked down, examining her nails, "Quite a bit better, actually." She added in a drawl.

"We need to find out what's casing this. And then we need to take them down." He paused, thinking. He glanced around the room, taking in a pile of climbing equipment stacked in one corner. "You climb?"

"I was state champ 3 years in a row." She said diffidently.

"I'll take that as a yes then." John said dryly, his mind occupied with the beginnings of a crazy plan. He thought it might just be crazy enough to work. Without filling either woman in on his plan, he asked "Do you have a city map?"

"Uh, sure." She said, obviously wondering where it would lead. "I'll get it." She said, getting up. It took her less than a minute before she returned with two maps. John discarded the first, deciding that it was too out of date to work. The second was the kind he had been thinking about- it listed points of interest. Quickly finding the icon he wanted, he scanned the map for it. Without looking up, he asked for a pen and paper.

Not quite hiding her exasperated sigh, Solitaire went to fetch them. She dropped them onto the table by John's hand and rolled her eyes when he didn't offer any thanks. A list of addresses began to grow as he made a catalogue of places that might work. Finishing with the map, he shot a smile of thanks to Solitaire, who smiled back at him before she realised what she was doing.

"What are you planning John?" Angela asked.

John frowned, trying to think of a way to explain his plan without sounding insane. "I want to bless the next rainfall we have. You know, turn it into holy water." It was ingenious, but he didn't know if it would work.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Solitaire asked, already knowing that the list he'd made was of churches.

"You'd climb onto the church roof and recite the blessing." He said, straight faced.

"No." Solitaire said, not even considering it. "I don't do religion." She explained without elaborating.

"I'll do it." Angela offered softly, adding "The blessing will work better coming from someone with faith." She looked directly at Solitaire, and said "I need you to teach me how to climb. Just the basics."

"Angela…" John said, sounding concerned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes, I am." She said firmly.

He heaved a sigh, giving in. "Okay then."

"So the plan's a go?" Solitaire asked.

"Yes. I guess it is." He said and felt a smile creep onto his face. It was time to get back into the game.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven 

Angela slipped and fell a few feet, cursing as the rope burned her hand even through the glove she wore. "Shit!" She swore, planting her feet against the wall. With a good ten feet of space between her and the floor, she felt a little nervous. She was okay with heights, but was finding that she had a healthy respect for them. After a week of training, she was finally starting to get the hang of climbing. She had to admit that it looked much easier than it was.

Solitaire stood below her, anchoring the rope that had stopped Angela's fall. The younger woman was frowning, one hand raised to her face to block the weak sunlight. She wore similar clothes to Angela, a navy vest top under a lighter blue half zip fleece, combined with dark grey trousers. The building that they were using to practice on was cracked and sagging, hidden away in a corner lot. John stood next to Solitaire, eyes scanning the street for any sign of trouble. So far, the day had been quiet.

"You're okay. Start moving up again. Right hand out and up, feel for the finger holds before moving your feet." The younger woman coached.

"Easy for you to say." Angela grumbled, but started moving, finding the next hand hold easily and pulling herself up. Her muscles burned with the exertion, but she didn't have time to stop and rest. The next rainfall was due in less than a week. She had to be ready by then. Reaching a window, she pulled herself up into it, sitting on the wide ledge. Her hands were sore and she laid them on the cool stone, easing the sting of many new blisters.

The sky was growing dark and a chill had started in the air. Solitaire called up to Angela "We might as well call it a night. Come on down." She shoved a strand of dark blonde hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

Angela made sure that the rope was secure before swinging back over the edge of the window ledge. She abseiled easily down the building, landing gently on the floor. Working quickly, the collected in the ropes and other equipment, stowing it in large canvas bags. Solitaire swung one over her shoulder easily, leading the way back to her apartment. She was tense, back stiff as she walked. Her right had never strayed too far from her side, where a matt black handgun was holstered to the side of her thigh.

The small group walked silently through the gathering dusk. All three of them were tense, waiting for an attack that never came. They made it back to the apartment easily. Solitaire let out a sigh of relief when the heavy door closed and was locked securely behind them. She had taken it upon herself to be the protector of the group and John had to admit that she was doing a very good job of it.

Stripping off the fleece top she wore, and un-buckling her gun belt, she stowed the climbing supplies. John and Angela stood back, keeping out of the way as best they could in the small space.

"So what do you think?" Angela broke the silence in the room.

"About your climbing?" Solitaire asked, closing the cupboard door.

"Yes. How am I doing?"

"You've learned a hell of a lot in a short space of time." Solitaire said, and Angela wasn't sure if it was a complement or not. "I think you'll be ready by the rainfall." The blonde continued.

Angela shot an anxious glance at John. He hadn't stopped pacing since entering the apartment. "That's good right?" She asked anxiously.

"Hell, yeah it's good." Solitaire said. Smiling, she did a rare thing and reached out to pat Angela on the shoulder.

John threw himself into a chair, sending a cloud of dust into the room. Angela coughed while Solitaire glared at him with annoyance.

"Hey, it's not much, but while you're here, treat it with respect, okay?" She snapped at him.

He had been moody and out of sorts for days not and neither woman could figure out what was wrong with him. When asked, he simply grunted in reply. They had taken to leaving him alone. Whatever was bothering him would come out in the end. Angela feared that he was worrying about the attack, and did her best to assure him that they were all ready.

In an instant, he was out of the chair and had pinned Solitaire against the wall by her throat. She met his eyes, her own grey eyes never wavering, even as his grip tightened around her slender neck. Blotches of colour appeared on her cheeks, and against her will, her hands came up to her neck to grab John's. His grip was like tempered steel. There wasn't an ounce of give in his hand. She dug her nails into his skin, trying to break free. He lifted his hand, forcing her onto her tip toes. She had no leverage for a good hit.

Angela kept back, wanting to help the girl, but not knowing how. She didn't want to make a wrong move that might kill them both.

"John…" She said, trying to get through to him. "Let her go."

There was a loaded gun on the coffee table and she moved towards in gradually. He sensed or saw her movement. She froze, hating that the man she loved had turned into a monster. Without taking his eyes off Solitaire, he lashed out with his other hand, catching Angela on the temple. She dropped to the floor, stunned. Pain radiated from that one spot like heat from a fire. Blood coloured her vision and she was too dizzy to move. "You bastard…" She heard herself mutter faintly as the room turned into a swirl of darkness around her.

The younger woman was beginning to choke, and clawed at John's hand, trying to pry his fingers off her neck. He had moved his hand lower again, and she had both feet firmly on the floor. He wouldn't let go, and gathering the last of her strength, she kneed him hard in the groin. He groaned in pain as she connected. His grip loosened, and she dragged in a harsh, choking breath. Her lungs ached for air, but she was coughing too much to inhale. John lunged for her throat again, and she had no choice but to knock him out with a well placed elbow to his face. He went down like a sack of bricks.

She bent over, finally getting in enough air. Legs weak and trembling, she let herself drop to the floor next to Angela, who was just coming around.

"What the hell was that?" Solitaire panted. Finding her balance, she got back to her feet, trying John securely with a good length of climbing rope. There was no way he would break out of that. Picking up the first aid kit, she sat next to Angela again, pulling out a gauze pad for the small wound on her head. Solitaire dabbed at the wound, finding that it wasn't too bad. She stuck a dressing over it, and helped Angela to sit up.

"You okay?" They both asked at the same time and half smiled.

"I'm okay." Solitaire said. "How about you?"

"Hell of a headache." Angela admitted. She scanned the younger woman, gaze settling on the deep purple finger marks.

"What's wrong?" Solitaire asked. Adrenaline still buzzed through her veins. She felt twitchy, needing to move.

"Your neck…" Angela gasped. She could hardly believe that John had made those marks.

"It's nothing." Solitaire said, knowing that there would be some spectacular bruises. She swallowed, finding her throat to be sore and stiff. "I'm fine." She said, hoping to ease Angela's guilt.

"The hell it's nothing. You need ice for that." Angela said, standing and heading into the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later with a dish towel wrapped around a bag of crushed ice.

Solitaire took it, holding it to her neck with a little hiss of pain. Her neck did hurt. "Thank you." She said, avoiding Angela's gaze.

Behind them, John was just coming around. He muttered in a language that neither of them knew. When he called out, it was for Angela. She felt tears spring to her eyes, and her hand rose to her mouth.

"John…" She said softly, wanting to go to her. Solitaire had risen to stand beside her and held her back.

"Don't. It could be a trick." She warned softly.

"What do you mean?" Angela demanded.

"He's possessed." Solitaire said simply.

"How do you know?" Angela whispered wretchedly, "How _can _you know?" She wanted to sob, to scream about the unfairness of it, but her emotions were coiled into a rock hard ball somewhere by her stomach. She couldn't make a sound.

"I saw his face. I saw his eyes." Solitaire said. "I'm sorry." She offered sincerely.

"So what do we do?" Angela asked.

Solitaire replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We have to perform an exorcism, of course."

"Jesus." Angela said.

"That's right, you should prey to him." Solitaire said darkly. "We might need his help yet."

Behind them, John screamed out his torment.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

John laid behind them, tied securely to Solitaire's bed. He had a fever, and the clothes he wore were sticking to him. They had managed to cut the shirt off him, but his black trouser had proven almost impossible to remove. He muttered now and again, each time in a different language. Angela paced by the bed, worried for him. She hated to see him like this.

There was nothing worse. Gently, she laid a cool cloth on his forehead, wishing that there was more that she could do for him. He was in danger from being too hot as well as from the demon inhabiting his body. As if fighting her touch, he thrashed against the ropes that held him. There was no give in them, and his struggles gradually died down.

Three days had passed since Solitaire had tied him up. They had spent the time searching for the things they would need to free John of the demon in his body. They had spent the nights taking turns watching over him in shifts, forcing him to take a few sips of water now and then. Most of the time, he laid quite, trapped, his own will a match for that of the demon's. There had been a few times when the demon had taken over and he had fought against the ropes. Solitaire took over his care, shooing Angela from the room. There was no need for the dark haired woman to see him like that.

"Okay, I think I'm ready." Solitaire announced a little uncertainty behind Angela. She had her supplies laid out on a while towel. She might not like religion, but she knew what she was doing.

"You know the plan?" She asked, voice still a hoarse from the bruises that ringed her neck like a necklace.

"I'm ready." Angela told her.

Picking up the worn book, Solitaire took a deep breath, and after flipping to the right page, began to read aloud. The words were in Latin, and they came from her strongly. She didn't pause in the reading, even as John cried and begged for relief. At appropriate intervals, Angela did her job, anointing John with holy water and holy oil. Angela found herself suddenly wishing that she had paid more attention to him when he was teaching her. She longed for the information she had missed during those brief lessons.

John wasn't the only one in the room sweating. Solitaire stood at the end of the bed, book balanced on one hand like some kind of guardian angel. She had never stopped chanting, even though her throat was raw. A faint shadow of movement inside John gave her pause, and when she started chanting again, Angela joined in. Their voices perfectly in time, the chant grew stronger, building in intensity all the time until…

The demon shape appeared over John, looking like some kind of warped reflection. It growled menacingly in the same language John had been using. Without pause, Solitaire drew a knife from the bottom of the crucifix in her left hand, driving it into the demon's heart as it lunged for her. It shattered into a million shards, vanishing into thin air before they hit the floor.

A pair of clouded brown eyes searched the room, finally landing on Angela's face.

"Angela…" He gasped. "What happened?" He sounded confused, and as the fever died away, shivers wracked his body. Solitaire moved up next to the bed, drawing the blankets over his body. She had sensed that Angela couldn't deliver the news and knew that she would have to do it.

"You were possessed, John. We got the demon out of you." She told him. "You attacked us, I knocked you out and tied you up. It was the only way to keep us all safe." She reached to untie the ropes.

"Don't!" He barked. "If the demon comes back, I could kill both of you."

Solitaire's fingers stilled on the rope. She glanced at Angela, seeing the torment the older woman was in. They hated to leave him tied up when he was so vulnerable.

"And what about you?" Angela asked, sighing heavily.

"I'll be alright." He told them. On-one in the room believed the words, but they chose not to fight them.

"So what's the plan?" Solitaire asked.

"The same as before. Angela blesses the rain. You draw the half-breeds out of hiding." John said, strength fading.

"It should rain tonight." Solitaire said. "What happens after…? To you?" She asked grimly.

"I should be free of the possession when you destroy the half-breeds." He answered just as grimly.

"And if you're not?" The one question Solitaire had not wanted to ask came from Angela. "What happens then?" She spoke with quiet desperation in her voice.

He closed his eyes, gathering his strength, forcing them open as he spoke. "You'd have to kill me."

Both woman were appalled by the request, but John didn't let that bother him. "Worry about me after the city." He said.

Outside, the sky was drawing dark and close, clouds heavy and low to the ground. A faint rumble of thunder crackled, a sign of the coming rain. Solitaire wanted to cheer, but it seemed wrong given the sombre mood in the room. Excusing herself, she left John and Angela together.

"I can't kill you." Angela said, refusing to even think about it. He was still shivering, and she stood to add another blanket over him.

"Better?" She asked, trying to draw him off topic.

"Yes, thank you." He said, "Solitaire can. If it needed to be done, she could do it." He said.

"Please John!" Angela begged. "Don't… I can't bear it!"

"Promise me, Angela, that if I'm not free, you wont stop her?" He asked with strange intensity in his voice. "Promise me?"

She refused to listen, turning away so he couldn't see her tears.

"Death is better than being possessed." He said, still pressing her.

She broke, whirling to face the bed again. "Okay! I promise. I won't stop her." She said brokenly.

Rain began to fall softly outside and she knew that it was time to go. "I promise, John." She said softly once again. Bending, she kissed him, knowing it might be the last time they could kiss. Resting her forehead gently against his, she cried softly, letting her tears drip onto his face, where the pooled and mixed with his own. Closing her eyes, she broke contact with him, refusing to open them until she had turned away from the bed. If she looked at him, she wouldn't have the strength to do what needed to be done.

Solitaire opened the door, carrying bags of pre-packed equipment. Handing one to Angela, she opened her mouth to speak to John, not knowing quite what to say.

"See you when this is all over." Was the best thing she could come up with. Offering him a crooked half smile, she shouldered the bag. Her weapons were already holstered and in place. With a last smile from both, John said goodbye to them.

And they strode into the night, into the heavy rain, leaving the great John Constantine to battle with his demons alone.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The church they had picked was the second largest in the city. Made of pale sandstone, it stood out like a beacon in the night. The gothic features were weathered, but surprisingly undamaged by the fall of the city. To Angela, it looked huge, almost un-climbable. She knew it was, at least for Solitaire, who had scouted it, warning Angela of danger areas to stay away from. With Solitaire driving, they made good time reaching it. Stepping out into the night, Angela turned to Solitaire, offering her hand.

"Good hunting." The blonde offered, taking Angela's hand.

"Be safe." The older woman countered.

"Always." Solitaire said.

With a wicked smile, Solitaire let go of Angela's hand, backing the car away from the church. She had a job to do. She drove for almost two miles, only stopping when she came to the spot she had picked out. It was a small, raised stone pedestal with a stag standing tall on it. She left the car, taking the keys but leaving the door wide open. Boosting herself onto the stag's back, she pulled out the scrap of paper John had given her almost a week ago. She had slipped it into a plastic bag, to keep the paper dry in the rain. She was glad that she had now.

There was a short spell written on it and she took a deep breath, checking that the rifle she held was ready to fire. It was, and she read the spell quickly.

"Elements of dark, I call you near. Elements of dark, I drag you here. Demon blood hear my call, demon blood prepare to fall."

As soon as the last word left her mouth, the half-breeds started coming into the square. She raised the rifle, blasting those closest to her, killing them. The golden bullets cut through them easily. The bodies disintegrated, leaving only a pile of dust that the rain turned into a kind of mud. It gave her some protection, making the later ones slip and fall as they tried to get to her. It was easy to pick them off as they struggled to their feet.

Soon, she was surrounded by them, and fear began to gnaw at her gut. Fighting it back, she kept firing, dropping them. After what seemed like eternity, all of the half-breeds in the square were dead. She had been very lucky. Taking a cautious look around her, she swung down from the stag's back, patting it before stepping off the pedestal. The mud was slippery, and she was forced to keep a hand on the cold stone while she caught her balance.

She never noticed the sudden movement behind her until it was too late. A half-breed with a hole the size of her fist through his shoulder ran at her, a blade held tightly in his hand. Without stopping, he ran into her, blade first. She gasped in shock, pulling the handgun from it's home on her thigh and shot the half-breed in the head. He fell back, dying and disintegrating to mix with the rest of the dust on the floor.

"Shit, shit!" She swore, hands around the knife sticking out of her stomach. She was shaking, shock starting to set in. Reeling backwards, she half fell into the car's driver's seat. Slamming the door shut, she locked them. It didn't offer much protection but she hoped it would be enough for now. Panting, she pulled the large first aid kit from the back seat, crying out in pain as she moved.

Taking a handful of large dressings, she gripped the knife tightly in her right and, holding the dressings ready in her left. Closing her eyes, she pulled the knife straight out of her body, dropping it onto the passenger side floor. It hurt like hell and she couldn't help but curse. She slapped the dressings over the deep wound, feeling faint. Leaning back against the seat, she let herself drift for a while.

Angela was struggling, to say it kindly. The church wall was slick and icy under her quickly numbing fingers. She had a long scrape down one arm from where she had fallen, and it throbbed in the wet. Pulling herself into a small alcove in the stone wall, she rested for a minute, stealing a look out over the city. Most of it lay in darkness, hiding the horror of the fallen buildings, but here and there she could see small pockets of light. She wondered if they were human or half-breed strong holds.

Catching her breath, she continued the hard climb, encouraged that the roof wasn't that far away. The ropes that Solitaire had rigged for her were still holding strong, and for that she was grateful. She climbed steadly on, ignoring the few slips she had. The last ten feet where the hardest, and by the time she struggled over the roof, she felt utterly exhausted.

Feeling in her pocket, she pulled out the blessing that Solitaire had thoughtfully placed inside a clear plastic bag. Closing her eyes, she mustered all the faith in her, forcing it into the words that she read out. They rang clear and sombre into the rain soaked night.

"My brother and sisters in Jesus Christ, let us praise God our Father, who called us in baptism to be his people. Blessed are you, Lord our God, Father of all and creator of the universe: through the waters of our baptism, you have raised us to new life in Jesus. Let this water remind us of your love show to us when we were baptized. Help us, Father, to live in your service. Blessed are you, Father, for ever and ever. Amen."

The last amen slipped from her lips and she waited to see what would happen. She had been waiting for almost five minutes and nothing had happened when she heard the faint cries of pain coming from far below her. The spell Solitaire had said was still active, drawing the half-breeds to her. The came into the rain, skin burning like the water was acid. Thunder rolled and the sky seemed to darken, promising that the rain wouldn't dry up for a while yet.

Angela had never thought that hearing cries of pain would bring her happiness, but her heart was filled with the emotion. Wearily, she slid to the edge of the roof, abseiling down the side of the building. She unclipped her harness from the ropes, not bothering to take it off. There would be plenty of time for that later. She was concerned not to see Solitaire waiting for her, as per the plan. Backing up against the church, she tucked herself into a corner, waiting. Time passed slowly, and she started to shiver a little. The clothes she was wearing were soaked through.

A car engine drew nearer, and Angela was relieved to see Solitaire driving up to the church. She squealed to a stop, throwing open the door so Angela could get in. a couple of the car windows were broken and there were spent shells on the floor. Angela bent and picked on up, finding that it was still warm. The girl had changed her top, Angela noted absently. She gripped the steering wheel with white knuckled determination, not taking her eyes of the exit in front of her.

Solitaire saw her, "Little trouble." She supplied, flooring the accelerator almost before Angela had closed the door. They drove through the night, heading back to the apartment, glad to see the half-breeds dying on the streets as they flew past. Before the night was over, the city would be free of the half-breeds and the curse they had laid down on the city. It was a good thing, the first positive thing the humans had to cling to in weeks, maybe even months.

Filled with the warm glow of satisfaction, Angela never noticed as Solitaire grew steadily paler.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

They pulled up in front of the apartment block. Angela got out of the car, expecting Solitaire to follow her. She was halfway up the stairs when she realized that the girl wasn't with her. Undecided, she stood on the step for a second, deciding to see what was wrong. She hurried down the stairs, throwing the outside door open and stepping into the rain. Seeing the slumped blonde figure in the driving seat made her hurry even more.

She wrenched open the door, kneeling next to the car. Her knees were in a puddle, but she didn't care. The rain lashed down, growing heaver all the time.

"Solitaire?" She asked urgently, shaking her gently. Her hand went to Solitaire's bruised neck to feel for a pulse. It was there, but it was faint and slow.

"Shit!" She swore, reaching across the girl to unfasten the seatbelt. Her hand came back covered in blood. Pulling the black top up, Angela saw the blood soaked dressings and swore again. Confused and pain filled grey eyes glanced at her, wide and wary.

"Why didn't you say something?" She muttered rhetorically. She swung one of Solitaire's limp arms over her shoulder, lifting her out of the car. They staggered to the building, Angela struggling to open the door. Once inside the lobby, the both collapsed to the floor.

"Stay there. I'll be back." Angela told Solitaire, yanking off her coat to lay under the girl's head. She sprinted up the stairs, bursting into the apartment with little regard to her own safety.

"John?" She yelled, hoping that he was okay. _please, Let him not be possessed. _She found herself praying over and over. _Let him be okay._

"Angela?" He called back, hearing the worry in her voice. "What's wrong?"

She ran into the bedroom carrying a knife that she had taken from the block in the kitchen. It was sharp, and for a second there was something like fear in John Constantine's eyes.

"What's happened?" He demanded, taking in the blood with once glance. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She assured him breathlessly, cutting the rope that held his right hand to the bedpost. She tried not to look at the brusies and raw patches where the rope had bit into his skin. He didn't seem to notice them.

"What's wrong?" He demanded again, "Angela! Speak to me!" He snapped.

"Solitaire's been hurt. She's downstairs. I can't get her up the stairs on my own." Angela said, sighing as one rope sprang apart.

John took the knife, using his superior strength to saw through the nylon strands more quickly. With his hands free, he un-tied the knots around his feet. He was sore and stiff from too many days without moving, but he forced himself to his feet, not bothering to put any shoes on as he followed Angela out of the apartment.

The dark huddled figure on the floor at the foot of the stairs wasn't moving, and for a second, they feared that she was already dead. John bent and picked her up, surprised by how light she was. The small pool of blood that had formed looked striking and out of place against the grimy white tiles. The three of them raced up the stairs, Angela stopping to lock the apartment door behind them while John went straight into the bedroom. He waited until Angela came into the room, asking her to straighten the covers that he had left in a heap in his haste to get Solitaire.

With the covers neatened, he laid her gently on the bed, sitting her up so Angela could slip the top she wore off. It was sodden and bloody, and Angela dumped it onto the floor. She went into the kitchen, coming back with a large first aid kit. She opened it on the floor next to John, handing him a pair of scissors to cut the tape that held the blood dressings to Solitaire's far too pale skin.

She stirred, gasping as his fingers brushed the would. It was clotted with blood, and he had to wipe it away to see how bad it was. She saw his hands, covered with her blood and primitive terror raced though her veins. Struggling, she tried to sit up, failing as her body didn't respond to her commands.

"Stay still," Angela said gently, taking hold of her hand.

_It hurts too much to even think about moving again,_ she thought, then closed her eyes. He carefully knelt down next to her. His hand hovered above the wound. He lowered it slightly, then stopped. His hand was shaking, and he suddenly longed to be back in his old life, responsible only for himself and no-one else.

"I'm sorry. This is going to hurt." he warned.

He didn't know if she was listening. He pressed the thick gauze pad in his hand over the wound and felt warm blood seeping between his fingers as he tried to stop the bleeding. Her breathing was slow and painful. Angela propped her up on another pillow, and it eased slightly. She was shivering, and Angela draped a blanket around her bare shoulders, covering her bare skin. Moving to the foot of the bed, she un fastened the soaked trousers, carefully pulling them off. She replaced them with a dry, loose pair of silk pyjama bottoms that would keep her warm. Almost as an afterthought, she drew another on up to her hips, covering her legs.

"How bad is it?" She asked John in a low voice.

"Pretty bad." He said, "I think it's stopped bleeding though." He didn't want to move the gauze to find out.

"That's a good thing." Angela agreed.

"I'm still worried about her." He said.

"Me to, John. Me too." She said softly.

He taped another dressing over the one already in place, and standing, he said. "There's nothing else we can do." He wanted to rub his hands over his face, but they were covered in blood. A longing for a cigarette came to him suddenly and he fought it back, knowing that there were non to be had.

They left her sleeping, Angela covering her with another thick blanket before stepping out of the room. She found John sat at the table, head in his hands. His hands looked freshly scrubbed and she could smell soap in the room. She laid a hand on his shoulder, offering silent support.

"She'll be okay." She said, "I have a feeling. She's a strong girl, and she wants to live."

"It's not that…" He said. "I… I keep thinking it could be you laying in that bed, hurt and thinking how glad I am that it's not." He laughed a bitter laugh. "It's an awful thing to think, isn't it?"

"It's human, John. Nothing wrong with that." She assured him. "She knew the risks and she agreed to help. You can't blame yourself." She said softly, moving to the stove, then sink as she made a cup of tea. She needed something to do with her hands. Making them something to eat seemed the right thing to do.

With the kettle filled, she set it onto the flames, letting the water heat. Taking out a chipped teapot, she added tea bags to it. They waited in silence for the kettle to boil. When it did, she snatched it off the heat, spilling a little of the water on the counter. She made a cup of weak tea first, setting it aside for Solitaire. She would want something warm to drink when she woke.

Making two stronger cups, she added milk and sugar, passing one to John before sitting at the table. He flashed her a small smile of thanks.

"Do you want something to eat?" She asked a subdued John.

"I'm not hungry." He said, flashing her a tired smile. "Have something if you want, I don't mind."

"I'm okay." She lied. The truth was, she didn't think she could handle eating right then.

They sipped the tea, each lost in their own thoughts. He didn't know how long passed before he heard a weak voice calling from the bedroom. Jumping to his feet, he bolted from the room and into the bedroom. Finding her awake, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"How do you feel?" He asked gently.

"Pretty crap." She said truthfully.

"Well, I'll take that over dead any day." He joked lightly.

"What happened?" she asked groggily. Her voice came out weak and shaky. Her side felt like it was on fire. She knew that if she dared to look, the whole of her body would be covered in cuts and bruises. She hurt all over.

"You don't remember?" Angela asked, coming into the room, carrying a tray. The tea was on it, along with a few biscuits.

"The last thing I remember was climbing onto the statue and starting the spell." Solitaire said. "Did it work?"

"It worked. We won." John said. "The half-breeds have been deported."

Solitaire smiled drowsily. "That's good." She decided that the rest of the story could wait until morning. She was content to know that they had won the war at long last.

--Fins--


End file.
